


I can't think of a clever title right now.

by koohai



Category: Cherik - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Charles is a Student, College, Erik is a professor, Logan is an asshole, M/M, ProfessorXStudent, professor/student
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-17 14:44:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1391533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koohai/pseuds/koohai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten thirty. 10:30. Half ten. Half-past ten.<br/>There were literally a handful of ways you could say it, but it all meant the same thing to Charles Francis Xavier – History.<br/>Well, Mr Lehnsherr.<br/>Oh alright, <i>Erik</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Toothpaste Kisses

“Fuck off.” Came the foamy response of the man brushing his teeth to Charles' immediate left, shoving him as he tried to claim dominance over the porcelain sink they were sharing.  
“Not on your life, Logan.” Charles spat back, literally spitting into the shared basin with the same vehemence as he had said those words.  
“This is my sink.” The other man pointed out, nudging him again very slightly as he motioned to the sink in question.  
“It's anyone's sink, moron. This is a shared dorm.”  
“It's mine. I paid for it.”  
“Because you slashed the first one!” Charles cried indignantly, “And I paid for it's fitting!”  
“That's because you're a rich twat.” Logan muttered, unable to contain a smirk.  
Charles couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of his reply, moving back from the sink to let Logan rinse his brush.  
“Besides...” Logan continued, in the same disparaging tone, “I can't blame you for hogging the sink...I mean, you only want to look good for that stupid professor of yours.”  
Charles almost choked on his toothbrush, staring at his hopelessly reddening reflection in the mirror, “That.....that's not true.”  
“Then how come you're in here every morning at nine, then?” Logan asked, putting his brush back in the pot and folding his arms, “You never used to wake up this early in the morning for your lectures.”  
“That's because...I....I kept being late.” He pointed out – this was true, he was late but only three times in all of a few months. Two out of three times, though, he was late for the professor in question.  
“Uh huh.” Logan smirked, moving to give him a hearty thump on the back, “You keep telling yourself that. I've got shit to do. See ya.” He chuckled, leaving Charles to slowly regain his composure and spend the rest of the day wondering why he wanted to flat share in the first place.


	2. Morning, sir...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles, after getting over the morning's hardships, goes to class. He meets Hank, and catches a glimpse of that teacher he likes so much.

He hung around outside the lecture hall, staring down at the blank screen of his phone, trying to feign interest in a pretend text message. Charles was always early on Thursdays, and it had just become second nature to him to arrive half an hour early to the lesson he'd been late for twice before. Then it had just been because he was scared of the man with the jumpers and brooding looks, but after two weeks on his own – the recent half term holiday, spent predominantly with Logan - he'd become more attached to the idea of hanging around the room before the lesson started.

He never actually intended to like him, and the way in which he had was embarrassingly cliché. He felt his stomach drop as he recalled a quote from a pretentious book comparing the way people fall in love to falling asleep. It was sad, it was soppy, it was downright stupid...but that was the way he'd fallen for Professor Lehnsherr. He wasn't even supposed to call him that – it was Erik. The way he'd fallen for _Erik_. He still hadn't actually called him that to his face yet, only to the students behind his back, away from the steely-green eyes that he often tried to catch from across the room.

“Hey, Charles...” Hank greeted, looking at him from over the top of his glasses. He leant against the wall beside Charles, panting lightly – the stairs up to the hall were quite a climb. 

“Hank, my friend, how are you?” Charles asked, pleased to see him. He didn't have too many friends in the lecture group so far, but he'd slowly started talking to Hank and a girl, Raven. Raven was more outspoken than the two of them, but they all managed to get along well.

“I'm fine, is Raven here yet?” He asked, smiling hopefully and pushing up his glasses.

“No, not yet. I'm sorry.” Charles said, flashing him an apologetic smile and turning away to put his phone back into his backpack, allowing himself a moment to roll his eyes. Raven wasn't in sight and yet Hank still felt the need to ask. _Could he be any more obvious?_ Charles hoped he wasn't like that, “So..." He started, looking back over at his eager friend, "Did you have a good holiday?” 

“Oh, yes. It was good. I just spent time with the family, you know?” He said, rushing his reply in haste to ask another question, “Did you...uh...see anyone?”

“No.” Charles replied quickly, assuming by that he meant Raven. Charles didn't need to be a mind reader to know that Hank had a crush on the girl, “No, I didn't.” 

Charles couldn't help but smile at the clear relief on Hank's face. Though he felt it might become tiring, he was pleased that his friend had something else to distract him from the endless studying he seemed to do. But it wasn't long before his eyes wandered over to the royal purple door of the lecture room as it opened with an audible _click_. The professor moved into that room from the other next to it – a old, disused history classroom which was now for his own personal use. The effect wasn't immediate, but he definitely felt his cheeks turn pink at the mere sight of him. Today's jumper was dark, and the material clingy, showing the sharp angles of his form. The professor's broad back and narrow hips made all the more obvious, with just a little bit of plaid shirt untucked at the bottom, just emphasising his...

“Charles?” Hank asked, pulling him back into reality.

“Y-yes, my friend?” He smiled, looking back over at him, trying to regain whatever composure he had left after that little visual detour.

“It's ten thirty-five.” Hank noted, pointing to the clock that was strategically positioned above the door of the lecture theatre, “I think we should go in.”


End file.
